1: Help Upstairs
“Where is she?” Lorna says. My step-sister is on her feet, gathering the plates. The clink of crockery is barely audible above the roar of conversation. Christmas Dinner has just concluded, and the family is in high spirits. We’re on to the third bottle of wine. “Where’s Beth got to?”
Lorna’s husband, Dan, is at the far end of the table, leaning over to pull a Christmas cracker with his own daughter, Terry. Opposite Terry, my mother, Catherine, eighty years old and still with it, is deep in discussion with her brother, Grant. Grant is ninety-four and lives in a nursing home. He’s out for the day. I picked him up in the morning and I drive him back at 5pm, which is why I’m laying off the booze.
The seat next to me is empty. That was Bethany’s seat. She got up five minutes ago, saying she wasn't feeling good, and disappeared through the door into the hall. No one else was paying much attention, but I was. I heard her footfall on the stairs going up, heard the door of the bathroom on the landing swing open and click shut.
“She said she’s not feeling well,” I say, rising to my feet. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Together, my sister and I clear the table. I help her carry it all into the kitchen.
“I’ll load the dishwasher,” I say. “You get on with the rest. What’s next? Dessert?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she mutters, peering through the oven window. “Cheesecake’s almost done.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “Oh, and there’s a cheeseboard. Crackers. And even an excellent dessert wine I picked up.” Her brow furrows. “Oh, sorry, you’ve got to drive.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I might have some when I come back from dropping Uncle Grant off. Nice of you to invite him. Didn’t think the nursing home would let him out.”
She smiles, brushes a lock of errant hair behind her ear. “Oh, you know. Christmas. Family. That’s what it’s all about, right?” She straightens and turns. “I’d better go see if that girl is okay.”
“I’ll do it,” I say, closing the dishwasher door. “You see to the family. Have a drink, relax for a while. How much longer for the cheesecake?”
She nods. “OK. Great. Thanks, Jon. About fifteen minutes.”
“Leave it to me,” I say. “I'll take it out when it's finished. What are you serving it in?”
She shows me, then gives me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “So nice you could make it this year. My big brother. So lovely to have everyone here, what with the year we’ve had. That awful COVID. And all you’ve had to endure.”
I hug her back, then release her. She returns to the dining room. I set the timer on my watch, then head for the stairs.
Lorna doesn’t know the half of it. She has no idea about the texts Beth has been sending me for the past six months. She doesn’t know that Beth's been running her foot up and down my leg during the first course. Lorna didn’t see the look Beth gave me before Beth announced she ’t feeling well. She didn't see Beth in the hall, bending over with her panties in her hands, flashing her ass at me through the open door before she dashed upstairs. No one did. No one except me. Which is why my cock is hard. So hard it’s uncomfortable.
I climb the stairs to the landing. The bathroom light is on. I listen. There’s no sound. I knock lightly.
“Beth? You okay? Need some help? It’s Uncle Jon.”
“Yes please,” comes the reply. “I need help, Uncle.”
The door is unlocked. I push it open and slip inside, closing it behind me.
Beth's on the toilet, lid down. She’s wearing a one-piece, sleeveless sailor dress in blue and white, with an enormous bow. It's scandalously short, barely covering her ass, a style that only teenagers can rock. Beth is nineteen, so she technically still falls in that category, but she doesn't fit any other category I know. The skirt is now pulled up around her hips. Her legs are wide apart. She’s discarded her knickers entirely. Her pussy glistens at me, pink and slick, almost glowing with heat. Her juice has coated the inky tight curls of her pubic hair. It’s on her fingers, where she’s been touching herself. She puts a wet finger into her mouth, sucks it clean. The air is thick with the smell of her cunt.
“Oh, Uncle Jon,” she says, in a little girl’s voice, looking me straight in the eye. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what to do with myself. I really need some help.”
I bolt the door behind me and almost leap towards her, coming to a stop within touching distance. She grins up at me as her hands find my fly. It takes only an instant. My cock pops out, rock hard and pulsing. The tip is all wet.
“Mmm,” she purrs. “So big. Just like in the photos.” She glances up at me with a sly smile. “I was hoping it was big.”
Beth wraps a soft hand around my dick and milks it once, then again, watching my face all the while. A fresh blob of clear liquid appears at the eye. Her fingernails, lacquered to a scarlet sheen, tickle me. My cock leaps in her hand. She peeks down at it, then back up at me.
Her eyes are enormous. “Or maybe it’s you, Uncle, that needs the help?” she whispers. “Can I help you, Uncle? Can I?”
I nod, speechless.
She grins, looks down at my dick, and licks her lips. Beth opens her mouth and tilts her head forward. She stares into my eyes as her other hand slides into my boxers and cups my balls.
I look at my watch. Twelve minutes till cheesecake. It should be enough.
My hands entangle in her hair as I thrust my cock deep into her throat. She squeals, gurgles, nips at me with her teeth, but doesn’t pull away. Her eyelids flutter closed. Finally, I find some words.
“Yes, please.” I say. “Yes, please.”
